If Looks Could Kill (Sideshow Bob Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty-two

Author's Note:

Trigger warning for this chapter.

Chapter 22

Bob looked wistfully at his mobile phone on the bedside table. Did he really want to burden Caitlyn with his feelings? 

"No. I don't," Bob sighed, "She worries about me enough."

There, sitting atop, the bathroom sink was Bob's wash-cloth, his toothbrush, and his shaving-razor. Bob knew that there were a whole pack of razors in his bathroom cabinet, alongside another bottle of anti-depressants, and another pack of toothbrushes.

His encounter with Bart, and the truth, had left Bob feeling empty and alone. It would only be a matter of time before the distraught returned in tidal waves. He couldn't keep going like this; he had to break the cycle. He needed to feel relief. Release.

Bob slid off his suit-jacket and hung it on the back of his door, as well as his shirt and tie. Bob sat down on his bedroom carpet with his back against the door, looking down at his pale, stick thin arms. Bob couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten that day, but he didn't feel hungry, so he thought it better to assume that he had. His thin wrists, to Bob, looked rather depressing and not manly in the least.

He shifted he attention from his wrists to the bathroom cabinet, and then back to his wrists. Surely one cut wouldn't do any harm... Would it? And he did need release... Didn't he? Bob got up and entered the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and locked it, just to make sure. Bob opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled out an opened pack of razors, but that still had four left inside. He took a razor out of the packet and then returned the packet to the cabinet. He shut the cabinet door and then turned his attention to the razor in front of him. Bob took his toothbrush and pressed the end into the blades-end of the razor, until he pried the plastic casing away from the blades. He put the toothbrush back in his cup Bob grinned manically in away that he hadn't done for a while. He caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror and froze. There was a glimmer in his eyes once more; a glimmer of excitement. He hadn't seen that glimmer in his eye in two months. He looked back down at the broken razor and continued disassembling the shaving-instrument. After several minutes of muttered curses and trapped, bleeding fingers, Bob managed to remove a single razor blade from the whole thing. He set the singular blade down on the sink and put the rest of the disassembled razor in  the bathroom cabinet.

Bob let out a small sigh of relief as he picked up the razor-blade with one hand, and turned his other arm over, so that his pale wrist was facing upright. Bob shuddered with frightful pleasure as the blade drew swiftly across his wrist. Droplets of rouge blood formed on the surface of the wound, causing Bob even greater enjoyment. He continued slashing his wrist to pieces, grinning like a maniac. The pain felt good. It was calming. It was necessary.

A good ten minutes later, Bob disposed of the blood-stained razor-blade in the bin beneath the sink, and began washing his bloodied wrist and hands. Bob stared down at the ugly scars on his pale wrist, now slightly pink around the wounded area. The thrill was gone, and only regret remained. It hadn't worked; distraught was washing over him, in tidal waves, as he predicted.

'Shame that he didn't live to grow up like you,' Cecil's words rang in Bob's ears. Bob growled, grabbing a towel to dry his hands, and wrist. He took a bandage from his first aid box in the cabinet and wrapped it gently around his sore pink wrist.

Bob unlocked the bathroom door and exited the room, entering his bedroom.

"How the hell am I going to hide this from Caitlyn?!" Bob muttered bitterly. Bob removed his suit pants, and hung them on the back of his door alongside the other items of his suit.